


In Living Waters

by Iactura



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cults, Gen, Gothic, Graphic Description, Horror, How Do I Tag, Inspired by a Movie, Long author's note at the beginning please read first, Lovecraftian, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iactura/pseuds/Iactura
Summary: Thirteen years ago, Robb’s father disappeared into Ironman’s Bay. Thirteen years later, Robb has yet to give up on finding the answers.Travelling to the isolated Iron Islands in search of the truth of his father’s last journey, Robb soon realises he may have discovered something much more sinister beyond those rocky shores.A silent town, whispers of ancient evils and a mysterious young man who seems both older and younger than he claims might force Robb to face his greatest fear - letting go of the past to look towards the future.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, 
> 
> This is my first fanfic in this fandom and the first in over a year so I might be a little rusty. It's set in a fusion of book and TV verse - I tried to make the world-building as book-verse as possible and the characterisation and appearances leans towards show-verse. The exception is Euron - he is 200% book-verse in every sense. I have had to make some major changes to the Stark family in order to facilitate the timeline meaning that Sansa and Rickon have been removed and the age gap between the remaining three siblings significantly reduced. It'll all make sense later I promise. 
> 
> Inspired by 'A Cure for Wellness' as well as Edgar Allan Poe's 'Fall of the House of Usher'.

_-Father, please don’t go…._

_Little arms struggle to wrap around the legs of the man walking towards the door. The owner of those arms doesn’t understand what is happening, only that the man he knows as ‘father’ is leaving.He does his best to keep his father home, alternating between pleading, crying and uncharacteristic anger. Six years of experience hasn’t quite taught him that some tasks, however unwanted, cannot be eschewed and some sacrifices, however harsh, must always be delivered. They have neither taught him the vastness of the world nor the varied natures of those many, many creatures that inhabit it. He remains innocent of the existence of_ those _types of creatures - the types that seem to only exist in scary stories told in the dark. He still believes they are but made up characters designed to keep rowdy children in line just like how he believes his father to be invincible and unfaltering in the way that only small boys do._

_There is so much he doesn’t yet know but …_

_At the moment, all he cares about is the receding figure of the man he calls father. Smaller and smaller towards the rectangle of light that is the door._

_-I’m sorry, son. There is work to be done. Maybe one day you’ll understand why. Until then, all I ask is for your patience … and forgiveness._

_He disappears into the white. The footsteps are replaced by the growl of a car engine and the awful sound of the tires as they roll away from the house. From him._

_He feels a hand on his shoulder and soft words are whispered into his ear but he can’t hear them. After a while, even the hand leaves, discouraged by his silence._

_Only then does Robb Stark sit alone on the floor, eyes filling with tears that don’t quite spill out, staring after a father he doesn’t quite realise will never come back._

Robb jolts awake as his ship rocks beneath him. For a second he experiences that feeling of weightlessness one feels when they partake in carnival rides or can herald the beginnings of sleep. It’s a queer feeling and for a moment it leaves him muddled, unsure whether he is awake or still asleep. A few deep breaths later, Robb confirms that he is in fact, awake after placing his freezing fingers onto his stomach. A part of him desperately wants to fall back asleep - it had taken him hours of lying in on the hard bunk to accomplish it- but a sense of uneasiness settles upon his chest. He tries to remember what must have been a nightmare but the details elude him, leaving only blurred images in their wake.

Sighing, Robb gets out of the bunk and shrugs on his winter coat. The cabin was so cold the night before that he didn’t bother to take off most of his clothes before attempting to sleep. He persists in his effort to recall the dream while his numb fingers struggle with the laces of his boots.

_There was a spot of light I think. A shadow as well, moving towards it. I said something only that my voice sounded different._

The knot he was tying unravels under his disobedient fingers.

‘Dammit!’

Funny thing is, Robb really doesn’t like cursing or people who get worked up over inconsequential matters but he just feels so tired. Whatever meagre rest his few hours of sleep may have provided him felt faint in comparison to the lethargy that had crept up on him over the last few days. The sea does not suit him at all. Perhaps some unconscious part of him knows what happens to Starks who strays too far out onto the waters. Then Robb feels a sudden clearness in his mind like a fog being blown away - he remembers the dream (or rather the nightmare) in all its detail.

_It was Father. Him leaving… and I was just a little boy of course. That’s why I sounded different._

The revelation does nothing to improve his mood. Far from it actually, since it reminds Robb of the sole reason behind this so far tortuous trip into Ironman’s Bay. His thoughts begin to race through a veritable maze of different scenarios, all of which involve his plan failing spectacularly and him ending up as food for the crabs. Truthfully, Robb has no idea why he ever thought he could succeed in a task no one else has ever dreamed of. After all, something must be the cause of the horrid reputation the inhabitants of these parts have. As far as he knows, nobody from the mainland has ever liked the Ironmen, with their history of pillaging and strange religion. Not even now ,when the days of raids and sacrificial drownings are over, do mainlanders often deign to venture into the islands of the Bay. One is counted lucky to just survive the journey there, not to mention what comes after reaching those rocky shores.

The thought of him surviving the sea only to be murdered by the Ironmen makes Robb burst out in laughter. Not the good kind of laughter, but that of the parched man unable to reach the oasis. He stops quickly when he sees one of the crew stare at him in confusion (or maybe it is fear). Robb quickly turns away from the man.

_Am I going crazy? Although I really shouldn’t be surprised if I am - no fully sane man would go to the Iron Islands just because of some childish dream of finding his father that he never outgrew. A father he last saw thirteen years ago at that._

The simple thought of that day still causes Robb’s eyes to become a little blurry. He blinks rapidly and swipes at his eyes once with his sleeve. There won’t be any more tears, he had promised that to his mother when he was twelve. She’d said he was too old for tears, especially since Bran had begun to ask more and more questions about their father. But the pain of the separation never faltered as the years went past and the gaping wound it left in Robb’s chest remains fresh. None of his attempts to forget the loss has ever borne fruit - he has come to the conclusion that the age-old saying “The North Remembers” must be true in all senses.

Unwilling to continue down the path of unpleasant memories, Robb sets himself to the task of locating the captain. He is desperate for the safety of land - quite a duplicitous thought though since one is never really safe once they enter this part of the world.

He wanders through the small vessel until he spots the captain rummaging through a pile of paperwork. The sight is a much more familiar one and Robb feels some of his earlier apprehensiveness dissipate. The man, somewhere in his fifties with the distinctive weathered appearance of a life spent at sea, looks like he would rather not be bothered by anyone, much less a passenger as unwelcome as Robb. Steeling himself to the inevitable glare, Robb approaches the man and asks his question.

‘Sorry to interrupt but, how long until shore?’

As expected, the man raises his head and regards Robb with an expression one might give to an annoying child. Seemingly deciding that it isn’t worth his time to get angry, the man returns to his work, muttering what appears to be an answer under his breath.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t catch that.’

The day cannot get any worse than this.

‘Soon,’ the man grinds out. ‘Should get to the first one in a few hours if you let me do my work.’

Robb cringes at the tone and implications of the man’s answer but he needs to know.

‘The first one? Do you mean the easternmost island, Harlaw?’

‘Gods’ sake yes! Harlaw, we’re stopping at Harlaw, I’ll unload my stock and you’ll get the fuck off my ship. Have I answered all your questions now?’

‘Why only Harlaw? Surely you could go further to Pyke too. It’s their capital.’ And my destination, he adds silently. As hostile as this captain is, Robb is certain an Ironborn captain would be much worse.

‘Are you daft boy? No one goes beyond Harlaw and certainly not to Pyke! You must be one of those idiots who believe that nonsense about the cure for mortality or whatever horseshit them people there say they have. Since you’re so sure about it then get a boat there yourself. I know I don’t want to end up as a drowned offering to their freakish cult. Now get lost and don’t bother me again until we dock.’

Cheeks red from either embarrassment or anger, Robb can only nod and hastily retreat back to the now deserted cabin. He takes a moment to think over the captain’s word _s. I_ t strikes him as odd that the man seemed so adamant in his belief that the Ironmen retain their old religious traditions even though laws had been passed banning it almost two centuries ago. Maybe it could be nothing more than xenophobic bias but Robb thinks it must go deeper than just that.

_Never take things at face value is what mother would say. It never hurts to be wary. And hementioned a ‘cure for mortality’ - I’ve heard of that before._

He remembers a conversation he once overheard while accompanying Bran on a medical checkup. He hadn’t paid much attention to the two old men sitting nearby until he heard the words ‘Iron Islands’. Suddenly alert, he had focused on their hushed voices and tried to make out as much as possible. They talked of rumours of new drug in development except it wasn’t from any of the established mainland manufacturers. No, the source of the supposed cure for just about anything was Pyke, a place that doesn’t even have internet coverage for the majority. From what Robb could gather, the men knew of others who, lured by the prospect of a wonder drug, had sold off their possessions to relocate to the desolate land. At the time Robb had dismissed the conversation as madness brought on by the desperation of their illnesses. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would believe a country as technologically stagnated as the Iron Islands could ever produce any safe medication, let alone one as effective as they claimed. In all of the reading he has conducted on the Islands, the rumoured cure had never been mentioned again.

_I don’t understand why he would automatically assume that of me. This ‘cure’ doesn’t seem to be common knowledge andI’ve never heard of anyone else heading to Pyke. But he said ‘those idiots’ so there must be others but why have I never read of them in my research?_

Robb feels a shiver run down his spine and he is certain it isn’t because of the cold. He feels like he is peering over the edge of an abyss, seeing only dark fog below him. Doubt threatens his resolve but Robb is adamant that he must continue. He can’t give up now. He has to brave whatever is going on in the Islands. He has to find answers.

Without knowing it, Robb’s hand grasps the pendant he always wears around his neck. He takes it and runs his fingers over the familiar carved wood. A running wolf, white with eyes of set rubies, it is the family heirloom passed down from through generations. It was his father’s last gift. Robb clasps it tightly until his fingers start to go numb before placing it back around his neck. Then he begins to check his bags in preparation for the arrival.

_It’s alright father. I’ll be there soon. I swear it._


	2. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb arrives in Harlaw (and so do some messages).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World building note -the independence status Iron Islands : the islands are technically part of the Seven Kingdoms but are much more distant from the other kingdoms. The others share the same currency and can freely travel between them whereas the Islands have their own currency and maintain a tight grip on their borders. Trade their has only recently opened up but not a lot is known about them. All of the Kingdoms are semi-nations with their own governments (think Russian Federation style with an overarching national government but all these individual smaller republics inside) but the Islands are the most autonomous because no one really wants anything to do with them.

_-Why did the father have to go?_

_The boy is slightly older now, with new experiences that give him the impression of maturity. Wholeheartedly convinced that he finally possesses the necessary knowledge to understand his father’s disappearance His mother, however, doesn’t agree with his conclusion but his questions persist undeterred. He asks her at every opportunity possible, never letting a spare moment pass by in peace. Each time, his mother responds in the same way._

_\- I will tell you when you are ready. Until then, wait and remember._

_It takes him a long time to accept that. But slowly the questions abate and, in their place, comes a resolute silence. When his classmates start to ask why his father never is never there, he replies with silence. When the innocent curiosity turns malicious and rumours begin to fly, he replies with more silence. It becomes his shield from the outside world just as much as from the hollow hole within. Everything is easier that way, to bury the raw emotions beneath a stony surface. There, it smoulders just hidden from view, evolving a consciousness of its own that is single-mindedly characterised by its desire for the truth it has been denied. He embraces it with open arms, its steadfast heat a reassuring companion as in the long winter nights._

The ship reaches Harlaw a few hours later, to Robb’s great relief. The combined effects of the turbulent journey, his earlier nightmare and the morning’s conversation made staying on the ship for even a minute longer exhausting. He pays the captain the rest of the promised money and all but flees the ship the moment the gangplank touches solid ground. The feeling of relief that surges through him as he walks down the wharf away from the tempestuous sea, he can only describe as heavenly.

Docked along the wharf are mostly local fishing vessels - most mainlanders prefer to drop off their goods and leave as soon as possible. To someone who has grown up in the metropolitan Winterfell, the ragged appearance of the Ironborn ships gives the illusion of having travelled back in time. Robb supposes that no amount of reading about somewhere will never truly encapsulate the reality of being there in person as he navigates his way through the busy port. He finds himself taken aback of the roughness of it all, the sheer purity of the utilitarianism that dictates the way of life in these bleak lands. Everywhere is the colour grey, from the murky waters to the overcast sky, the bare concrete and the dour expressions of their inhabitants. Even his navy windbreaker feels garish in comparison.

Robb feels the stares following him, silent in their judgements before their owners lose interest and return to work. He has yet to see any other mainlander besides those hurrying about in their ships.

_Ten Towers is the main trading port with the mainland. If this is the atmosphere here, Pyke must be downright hell. Where are the expats? There should be a few of them at least. Wait, is that even the right word to use if the Islands are still technically part of the Seven Kingdoms…_

Robb chuckles at the ridiculousness of his thoughts. He gets a few more stares. Oh well. Now reaching the end of the docks, he enters the derelict shack that has “Customs” painted on the wall. There are three men inside, all of whom who stare at Robb as he pushes open the rusted door. It screeches embarrassingly loudly.

“Um,” Robb coughs and tries to think of what to say. “This is customs, right?”

_Real astute of me._

The man sitting behind the only desk gives Robb blank look before replying “Aye, it is. Where you from Greenlander?”

Robb answers his questions dutifully, wary of the two other men, one of whom is sitting on the ground with his hands bound in rough rope. The other stands over him absentmindedly swishing a baton in the air. He doesn’t exactly want to know the story behind - the sight is warning enough.The man behind the desk asks if Robb is planning to visit any other islands. He briefly thinks about lying, not wanting his each and every move to be trackable but decides against it. He has always been told he is a terrible liar.

“I’ll be going to Pyke as well.” _Please just let me pass._

The man frowns at that and pauses writing to stay Robb from head to toe. “And what business have you there? You are very far from home, Greenlander.” His tone has become suspicious, his gaze still flicking across Robb as if looking for some indication of his motives. “Can’t let you in unless I know what you’re up to, ‘specially if you’re going over there."

_Think dammit. What does he want to hear? I sure as hell can’t tell him I’m on a mission to find my Northern father who just happened to disappear while travelling in your waters._

Desperate, Robb falls back to his last resort and lies. The captain’s words echo in his mind. He makes a show of fidgeting and looks at down at the ground, playing the role of a guilty man whose secret has been uncovered.

“I, um, heard about the rumours, you know about what’s happening there. The cure. Please, sir, just let me through, I need to get there before my condition deteriorates otherwise it’ll be too late. I’ve got contacts with the other mainlanders here, they’ll vouch for me.

_Shit! Why did I say that? Now he’ll actually ask them, and my lie will be exposed._

Impossibly, the man takes Robb’s word and appears to be mollified. He completes the paperwork and stamps a black Kraken onto Robb’s passport. Just as he is about to leave the room, the man calls out to Robb.

“May your gods protect you, young man. Only they know how much you will need it.”

——

Despite being the foreign trade centre of the archipelago Ten Towers is not the bustling town that one would expect of it. There are neither high rises to house a multitude of offices nor large warehouses to store the produce being traded. The whole place looks wind-beaten and falling apart piece by piece – the eponymous keep that once perched on the seaside cliffs now nothing but a collection of broken spires. Robb thinks that he would have liked to have seen it before it was abandoned after the fall of House Harlaw but he doesn’t have time to waste on entertaining fantasies. Seeing that the weather is about to take a turn for worse, Robb hastens his pace in seeking out a place to stay. Thankfully, the sole inn is located close to the docks.

Entering, he quickly pays for a room and breathes a sigh of relief as he opens the door, its rusty hinges screeching. A large cloud of dust rises when he drops his bags onto the bed.

_If the weather continues like this, I’ll be stuck here until for a while. I should ask around for information. No, that will look far too suspicious – I need a cover for why I’m here._

Lightning flashes outside as the downpour begins in earnest. Robb turns on his phone and prays he will still have reception despite the brewing storm. One tentative bar appears, followed by a flurry of alerts – text messages from his cousin Jon and five missed calls from his sister. He opens the texts, scrolls to the top and begins to read.

\- Robb are you sure about this? I know how much finding the truth means to you but is it worth risking your life for? Ned’s gone, he’s been gone for thirteen years. You can do so much more with your life than putting it on the line to chase after a ghost. Please text me back.

\- Where are you? I called around in Seaguard but no one has a record of you buying passage to the Islands.

\- Arya called me to ask about you since your phone was switched off. She says Cateyln has been acting strange too. Did the two of you argue? Your siblings are worried about you. When you read this, call me back. Immediately.

\- Robb fuck this! He’s dead! All of this is just a childhood fantasy you never outgrew. Wake the hell up and come back!

_‘He’s dead’ If only it were that simple Jon. You just don’t understand, you never have. You don’t know the guilt I feel every time Bran asks me about the father he never knew or when I dress Arya’s cuts after she gets into fights at school when they say father abandoned her. You weren’t there for mother’s episodes, never saw her stare into the driveway for hours on end and set out an extra plate on the dinner table. I’m not chasing after a ghost – I’m trying to fill in that hole in my chest, the wound that never healed._

Robb doesn’t include any of that in his reply. He swallows down the torrent of words (shut up and sorry) and emotions (anger and bitter shame, so much shame), whispering ‘it’s easier that way’. Always easier -easier to be like iron or ice. _Stoicism._

\- I’ve arrived in Harlaw. All is well and I will soon continue onto Pyke. Don’t worry about me or expect more texts, the reception here is terrible.

He pauses and thinks of what else to say. The most logical thing to do is to tell Jon about his discoveries so far – the recurrent mentions of the ‘cure’ and the many warnings he has received. Telling Jon will ensure that if something is to happen to him, Jon will at least know where to start looking. But an ugly part of him rejects this idea, spiteful at Jon’s dismissal of his lifelong desire as a mere childhood fantasy. Jon has never understood, and he won’t start now.

\- Text Arya for me. Tell her I’m fine and ask her to behave for me. As for my mother, don’t tell her anything, even if she calls you. We’ve had a falling out, so I don’t want her involved. Take care.

Not even a minute after the message sends through, Robb receives an incoming call from Jon. He stares at the screen, undecided whether to answer or not. The voice of reason wins out and he brings the phone to his ear but before Jon can let out a single word, the call cuts. He checks his reception status – it’s gone. The pit of darkness inside him seems to grow, expanding from his core to leave him shivering and hollow. Robb recalls the horror stories that had once captivated his imagination (he had read them with Jon by his side, too afraid by himself but he doesn’t think about that), all of which shares many similarities to his current situation.

Alone – check. In an isolated, hostile place – check. No phone reception and a high chance of mysteriously disappearing. I’m practically the epitome of dumb horror characters.

Robb wallows in that thought for a moment but soon discards it. If he is to die, then at least it will be on his own terms, doing something he has always wanted to do. It’s better than many others in his family. Leaving his veritable mess of personal issues behind, Robb opens a bag and rifles around for his book – _History of the Ironborn._ The tome has been a constant companion of Robb’s for as long as he could read. He opens to the dogeared page on the recent history of Pyke and begins to reread the text, following the dense, pedantic style as close as possible. The cacophony of the storm is amplified inside Robb’s mind, each nameless sound seemingly echoing the words he reads.

\- …to have come from the sea… he hears the whipping fabric of sails, rushes of water upon stony shores,

\- … grew strong from blood … the ring of metal, crackling fire,

\- … and fell into the black abyss …

Robb is sure he hears the cries of a young boy, although whether it is his or someone else’s, he knows not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major kudos to people who can recognition the Poe reference at the end - comment if you did! I am looking for a proofreader so if anyone is willing please message me at Iactura-1871 on tumblr. As always, feedback most gladly appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very much wanted and appreciated. All the geography is based off InDeepGeek's 'A Traveller's Guide to Westreos' which I highly suggest you check out.


End file.
